Descriptive Essay: All Quiet On The Western Front

The rough fabric of the sack grated her face as she hit the ground, landing on her side and slamming her head. Sweet chirps flitted through the air above her, dancing. Birds. She could hear them for the first time in months. So she was outside? Did that mean it was over? That her torture was going to end?
The wretched sack was ripped off her head, along with some of her hair. She was yanked back by the neck of her dress, forced into a kneeling position. Ropes wrenched at her wrists and ankles, tearing at her scabs. Cautiously, her eyes slid open to blinding pain as she stared into the sun. At first, she could only pick out the most prominent details, but the blurriness gradually faded. She felt groggy, as if she had been knocked out. Trees

surrounded her, silent bystanders. The forest; she loved the forest. She wouldn’t mind dying here, lying peacefully among the trees. Forests were always peaceful, always had been and always would be. At least, she hoped they would; it was doubtful she was going to get out of this alive. How fitting: Eliza of the forest would die in her namesake.
A fiery red sun slowly set behind the proud trees, glaring into her already blinded eyes. Wisps of clouds hung whimsically above as she spat out the moldy dishcloth that had been forced into her mouth. Her shoulders ached from having her arms held in one position for so long, and she had lost all feeling in her feet.
“Do it,” a man commanded.
A tall figure stepped forward, blocking out the last vestiges of the setting sun.

He nodded, tilting his head as he did so. Claude. It could only be Claude. No one else tilted their head that way. Slowly, slowly, he raised his arm, his fingers curled familiarly around the handle of a gun. How many people had he killed with it? How many more would die at his hand? This person in front of her was not the one she had known; that Claude was long buried, replaced with this heartless being about to kill her. How would she bring him home? He terrified her. Claude, her own flesh and blood.
“Why?” Eliza pleaded. “I still love you. You’re my big brother, you’re supposed to keep me safe. I don’t care if you’re-” The gun handle smashed into her face, impressing its cruel lines into her skin. Blood mixed with dirt as she crashed into the ground, her breath ripped forcefully from her lungs. Another wound to add to her long list of injuries. Ha, battle scars. Battle scars of a war she didn’t care about. How had this happened? How had she ended up in this mess in the first place? Not too long ago, she had been a farm girl in Virginia, running barefoot through the woods with the wind in her hair. Now her brother was about to kill her.
Claude’s low hiss brought her back to the present. “I don’t have a sister,” he spat. Claude stepped back, no hint of emotion on his face. His rage had subsided already, satisfied with this last offering of blood.
Once again, she was yanked back into the kneeling

position, even harder than last time.
“Don’t cater to the whims of dirt. Finish it now, so we can rid the Earth of this slime. A quick death is more than it deserves, after the crimes it has committed against our Confederacy of the United States.” Cold and placid, barely a shred of humanity was left in the man.
She threw her head back, asking the night for guidance.
“What have you done to him?” Eliza screamed to the sky, the first stars twinkling above her. “Why? Why?” Tears slid down her face, cleansing it of the filth that had accumulated there during her imprisonment. Hunching over, she let them fall onto her ragged and torn dress. “Why? Why did this have to happen?” Every tear held a reflection of herself within it. She didn’t care what happened to her anymore, had stopped caring long ago. All that mattered was her brother. Straightening up, she looked him in the area she guessed his eyes were. It had gotten dark so quickly. Was winter on its way? Had she been trapped for that long? The last time she had been outside, had even seen the sky, the night had ended in flames and hatred.
The men had gathered around the big oak table in the kitchen, as they had been so often lately; they arrived alone, with their faces covered and voices low. The gathering always started the same way. Heated arguments about slavery, politics, and that word, secession. She had never heard it before, had never considered that her country would split in two.
But that night, she had something to say. Something she had overheard when she was gathering herbs in the forest that day. She had been pretending to be a tiger stalking her prey, when she stumbled upon the mayor and some strange men talking. She listened as the mayor negotiated with the strange men.
“Virginia will never listen to some snub Yank. A Republican president? That simply will not do,” he had proclaimed. He stepped aside, as if from behind a podium. Another man was standing behind him; no, not a man. A boy trying to be a man. “Claude, hand this fine gentleman his due. He is an upstanding citizen of this state, one you should attempt to become. You have a lot to make up for, what with that daddy of yours and his friends. Free the slaves? Now that’s a load of horse manure. That fine establishment is our livelihood, and I’ll be darned if it’s taken away from me.”
That night, her world had burned.

Her father had barricaded them in, as the mob surrounding their house grew, even as their fields and barn burned. The stench of burning animal flesh numbed her nose, the shrieks of dying animals deafened her ears. Claude had never come home that night, and the men from the gathering were still there. Her mother was the
acting drill sergeant, ordering them about the house. In different circumstances, it would have triggered at least a snigger. Eliza helped out any way she could, until her mother forced her into the cellar.
“One of us is getting out alive, Eliza. You need to find your brother and bring him back home. Get into the crawlspace you two dug out, and don’t leave until this is all over and done with.” Her mother’s fierce eyes didn’t betray a single fear: She already knew she wouldn’t see the sun rise. The smell of smoke permeated the damp cellar, and it wouldn’t be long until it spread to the house proper. Squeezing into the small crawlspace dug into the wall, Eliza held off the tears as best she could. If she was going to find Claude and bring him back, she would need to stay strong. She could always cry

later.
They found her amidst the ruins, passed out and barely alive. They kept her, torturing regularly. She heard them celebrating the election of Jefferson Davis and the secession of Virginia from inside her dank cell. These facts were meaningless to her.
Claude. Where was Claude? Would she be able to bring him home?
Again, she was yanked back into position. Once again, Claude raised his firing arm. He stepped closer to Eliza, until the muzzle was right between her eyes. The tears had stopped falling. She was done remembering. All that mattered was her brother. She was going to bring him home, even if it was over her dead body. She couldn’t see his face anymore, the darkness of the night obscuring her sight.
“I love you, Claude Abraham Russell. I love you, and don’t you dare forget it,” Eliza stated. She hoped he could hear the conviction in her voice. She hoped she was as brave as her mother had been, that no trace of fear had crept into her voice. Staring deep into the blackness, she never heard the click of the trigger, the explosion that sent the bullet down the barrel and into her head. All she heard was the sound of her mother’s voice, welcoming her home.